My name is Draco Malfoy.

And I am dead inside.

It's like a fact now. Dead people don't feel things. They're numb. Immune to thoughts, feelings. Feelings like love, and happiness, and sadness. And Guilt.

I never had life in me. It was like a weak flame flickering endlessly in my heart, always there, tantalizing, but going out before I could touch it.

You are probably wondering why I am this way. As a child I was promptly taught that I was superior to other people because of the fact that I was a pureblood. I would grow up to serve my Lord. Lord Voldemort.

I never knew what it was to Love. Love was nothing. It was pain and anguish. And horror. Love was pointless, it would end. Like me, I had ended.

As I grew up to be a man, I got the Dark Mark branded into my arm. I served my Lord. I tortured thousands. I killed Hundreds . I did everything he asked me to do. I never felt anything.

But one day it happened. I was ordered to kill a girl. Nothing big. A routine. I found her. I said the two words that would end her life. A green light shot out of my wand, just before it reached her I looked at her. Her hair was a fiery, crimson mane. It shone like the stars. I looked into her eyes. They were endless. Full of grief and fear. But beyond that lay happiness. Beyond it lay a childhood filled with laughter, and friendships, and hugs, and life. As the green light hit her and she was gone, I felt for the first time ever, guilt. For the first time ever I felt that flicker of life in my heart.

My name is Draco Malfoy

And I am dead inside. But for one moment I had lived.